


everything, even ourselves

by ohdeariemegoodness



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Other, Transformer Sparklings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 06:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16928274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohdeariemegoodness/pseuds/ohdeariemegoodness
Summary: “Analysis complete,” Soundwave cuts in.  “Sparkling: available.”Ultra Magnus attends several critical meetings, sends a carefully-worded interfactional memo, and develops crucial protocol documents in an unreasonably short timeframe.





	everything, even ourselves

“We are likewise delivered from the ‘internal life’: in vain would we seek the caresses and fondlings of our intimate selves, like Amiel, or like a child who kisses his own shoulder—for everything is finally outside: everything, even ourselves. Outside, in the world, among others.”

—Jean-Paul Sartre, from _Intentionality: A Fundamental Idea of Husserl’s Phenomenology_

* * *

 

Soundwave and Megatron meet them at the entrance to the base.  Ultra Magnus greets them with a professional nod, which Megatron completely ignores, barrelling straight past Magnus and into Optimus.  Soundwave comes to stand silently beside Ultra Magnus. Presumably, he is aware that the posturing tends to go on for a while.

“I see Starscream chose not to attend,” Ultra Magnus says, trying not to appear as relieved as he is.

“Starscream: reviewed specifications,” Soundwave explains.  “Determination: project not feasible.”

That had been the determination from the beginning, but Jazz and Wheeljack had insisted, and surprisingly, so had Ratchet.  And they did have a point; the fight against the Quintessons wasn’t leaving them with a lot of options. So Optimus had approved the project anyway. 

“You don’t share his opinion?” Ultra Magnus asks. 

Soundwave doesn’t respond; Ultra Magnus takes that as a no. Before he can follow up—Ultra Magnus knows as well as anyone to respect Soundwave’s opinions in this matter—Optimus steps back from Megatron. 

“Let’s take Megatron and Soundwave down to the lab,” Optimus says to Ultra Magnus. “Wheeljack and Ratchet are waiting for us.” 

They walk down into the basement single file.  Project Starkiller is laid out on the lab’s floor, big enough to fill most of the room from end-to-end.  His chest has been left open, massive, thick cables sprawling out and down, connecting to an equally massive vat of energon glowing in the corner.  

“You’re here!” Wheeljack says.  Ratchet is sitting gloomily on the other side of the room, but he comes over to greet Optimus, at least.  He won’t even look at Megatron. Ratchet has yet to accept the wisdom of their truce, despite the fact that without it, they’d be fighting a war on two fronts—and losing.  Even with the full might of the Decepticons behind them, they have yet to manage any sort of decisive victory against the Quintessons.

“He’s really very impressive, Wheeljack,” Optimus says, as Megatron starts walking around and inspecting exposed components.  “Your reports don’t do him justice.”

Wheeljack puffs up.  “His double-bodied design gives him a carrying capacity equal to Omega Supreme’s,” he says.  “And unlike Omega Supreme, his core emotional components are completely shielded against all known Quintesson attacks.” 

Megatron is less impressed.  “He doesn’t look big enough to maintain the transformation capabilities you’re claiming,” he says, folding his arms across his chest.

Ultra Magnus has reviewed the specifications in detail, and he’s no engineer, but he can’t help but agree with Megatron.  Project Starkiller is a triple-changer, with one transformation mode a double-bodied shuttle, and the other mode a weapon, a railgun that has to be mounted to a significant gravity source—a moon or a small planet at the very least.  The frame in front of them is huge, much larger than Ultra Magnus or even Skyfire, but it’s no Omega Supreme.

“He has to subspace a lot of mass, obviously, and his paneling is heavily compacted,” Wheeljack explains.  He pulls at one of the open chest panels, showing how it seems to fold out indefinitely. “We made his root mode as big as practically possible, but we wanted him to be able to fit inside the base.”   

“Hmm,” Megatron says.  “Have you tried to spark him yet?”

“Well…” Wheeljack waves a hand in Starkiller’s general direction, “He’s not exactly awake yet.” 

Ratchet snorts.  “Yes, we’ve tried,” he says.  “I had hoped—we were able to spark the Dinobots, after all.  But we haven’t been successful. If we could give him separate power systems, maybe, but then his railgun mode wouldn’t meet minimum power requirements.” 

The unspoken implication is that the railgun mode is what they’re all counting on.  Jazz and Wheeljack’s plan is convoluted, and rests heavily on Decepticon involvement.  But if they can make it work, the Quintessons will be destroyed, and the war will be—over.  Ultra Magnus can hardly imagine it, but he signed the treaty himself, and so far, the Decepticons have respected the terms. 

Optimus walks closer to Starkiller, and rests a hand on one massive arm.  “So the project isn’t feasible, after all?”

“We just haven’t put enough energy into the manual sparking,” Wheeljack says.  “It needs an additional energy source, something to keep the power flow stable while the energon sparks the internal reactor and gets the initial routines going.  We could try—geothermal power, maybe.”

“That’s not how manual sparking works,” Ratchet argues, “the entire process is dependent on the strength of the spark.  If the spark can’t maintain the power needed for initialization, it’s not going to be able to support the frame.”

“Not forever,” Wheeljack says, “but if we can get this mech up and running, we can figure out how to attach an external power source.”

Ultra Magnus shuffles uncomfortably.  It’s Optimus’s decision, of course, but the idea of knowingly sparking a mech that could just _burn out_ —  

Surprisingly, it’s Megatron who speaks up first. “No.  Either pull out the emotional components and get an AI running that thing, or find a spark that’s strong enough to power it.”      

“An AI won’t work,” Wheeljack says, grimly.  “This frame isn’t designed for AI, and Starkiller’s weapon mode especially is dependent on his spark.  We could try to engineer a purely AI version of his weapon mode, but the amount of energon needed to power it without a spark—not to mention the logistics of on-site assembly right in the middle of the Quintesson system—it’s just not viable.” 

Ratchet rubs his hand across his face.  “He’s right. It has to be a mech, and no one functioning has the abilities we need.” 

Megatron continues his walk around Starkiller, stopping occasionally to look in greater detail.  He pauses at Starkiller’s head, looking down into his still-open braincase.

“Jazz’s plan is a good one,” he says.  “We’ve been fighting the Quintessons for longer than I ever planned to, and it’s time we crushed them once and for all.”

Ultra Magnus nods, and looks over at Soundwave, standing silently in the doorway.  Jazz isn’t the most reliable or predictable officer, but this plan has been vetted by Prowl, and approved by Optimus. Starkiller, in his railgun mode, will be capable of forcing a coronal mass ejection out of the Quintesson’s second sun with a massive electromagnetic pulse; the resulting solar flare will destroy the Quintesson’s infrastructure and the delicate technological components of their bodies. Most of them will survive the blast, but the clean up will take millions of years.  It’s enough to end the war definitively, but it’s only possible if they can get Starkiller functioning.

“If a manual sparking won’t work, we’ll have to find a strong enough spark the traditional way,” Megatron decides.  “I’ll order my warriors to get started.”

Ultra Magnus’s mouth drops open.  Behind Optimus, so does Ratchet’s. 

“You can’t just order your people to start procreating and hope for a strong enough spark,” Optimus says, looking shocked. 

“I can and I will,” Megatron says.  “It’ll take longer than manually sparking him, but if the Decepticons know what’s good for them, they’ll get to work.” 

Optimus throws his hands up.  “What are the chances that a Decepticon pair will just _happen_ to produce a strong enough spark?  And that’s not even touching on how _completely unethical_ it is to order your subordinates to interface!” 

Megatron snorts, and starts walking out of the lab.  “Decepticons aren’t interested in _ethics_ ,” he sneers.  “They’re interested in _surviving,_ so they’ll start producing sparks soon enough.  And if you want this war to be over, you’ll have the Autobots get started, too.” 

“Megatron,” Soundwave says.  Megatron stops in the doorway, and when Soundwave doesn’t say anything else, he waves a hand impatiently. 

Soundwave turns to Wheeljack.  “Query: minimum power rating for sparkling.” 

“I haven’t done the math yet, but you can probably determine a minimum faster than I can,” Wheeljack says, handing over a data chip. Soundwave inserts it into a handheld sanitizing unit as Wheeljack continues.

“Megatron’s plan…might actually work,” he says. “The minimum power rating will be slightly lower for a sparkling than a manual spark, because the baseline temperament will already be partially developed, so less power will be needed in the core initialization.  And of course, traditional sparklings tend to have a higher power rating than manual sparks anyway, because of the core incubation.”

Ultra Magnus accesses the base archives, but a search for “sparklings” brings up mostly indirect references, and one brief pamphlet intended for medical assistants.  Even before the war, it wasn’t a popular method of reproduction.

“I can’t confirm the viability of this plan based on our archives, sir,” he tells Optimus.  “Ratchet, are you able to offer a second opinion?”

Ratchet snaps out of his stupor, shaking his head.  Ultra Magnus takes that as a negative, and starts to add a note to the project file requesting additional research, but Ratchet goes on.  “A sparkling could potentially support the frame,” he says, “with particularly strong progenitors, and a good helping of luck. But Optimus, sparklings aren’t created very often for a reason.  The separation process is dangerous, and even if the sparkling is rated high enough, the process still might backfire due to baseline incompatibility. And there’s no evidence-based method to determine compatibility prior to separation.  It’s a crapshoot.”

Megatron looks at Optimus consideringly when Ratchet mentions the strength of the progenitors, and Optimus turns away quickly, staring intensely at the floor beside him. Ultra Magnus wants to ask him what he’s looking at, but it feels inappropriate to interrupt.

“Well,” Megatron smirks, “if it’s _particularly strong progenitors_ you’re looking for, Ratchet—”

“Analysis complete,” Soundwave cuts in.  “Sparkling: available.”

The room goes quiet, and everyone stares at Soundwave for a moment, waiting for him to go on. 

Megatron loses patience quickly.  “Explain, Soundwave,” he says.

“Soundwave: incubating sparkling,” Soundwave says.  He gestures at his chest.

Vaguely, Ultra Magnus feels his legs lock up, keeping him upright while his system processes.   He and Soundwave have always been—similarly driven. They share a lot of compatible responsibilities, and it can be—it _has_ been—nice to, to share that, with someone else—and of course, cross-factional interfacing is explicitly allowed by the terms of the treaty, so long as no confidential information is exchanged and superiors are notified— 

Ultra Magnus’s systems come to a complete stall, suspending all external input as he re-accesses the archive’s information on sparklings.  The pamphlet indicates that sparklings can only be created through deep and intimate interface, a systems exchange thorough enough to produce the necessary power level. Soundwave and Magnus have only interfaced once, both of them overcharged and riding the high of a major interfactional victory.  But Ultra Magnus had given Soundwave an—inadvisable level of access.

Refusing to panic, Ultra Magnus continues his review, and he quickly finds that the standard incubation period is less than a full Cybertronian year, and the recommended maximum is two.  With a deep feeling of relief, he feel his systems coming back online. It’s been nearly twelve years since the incident.

Ratchet is shaking his shoulder, asking something.

“I apologize for my inattention, Ratchet,” he says.  “What were you saying?”

“Ultra Magnus!” Ratchet says, waving a scanner over his chest plates.  “That wasn’t inattention, your systems almost crashed. You haven’t been responding to external stimuli.  What happened? Did you try to pull too much from the archive at once again?”

Ultra Magnus feels his emotional systems go hot; that has only happened once.  “No, Ratchet,” he says, stiffly. He looks over at Soundwave, who is staring calmly at a furious Megatron. 

“Who is responsible for this?” Megatron is demanding.  “And what happened to your insulator?”

“Insulator removed,” Soundwave says.  “Other progenitor: Ultra Magnus.”

Ultra Magnus feels his emotional routines stall and drop out of conscious processing entirely. 

“An Autobot?” Megatron roars.  His cannon starts humming, powering up seemingly on its own. 

Soundwave is apparently unfazed by Megatron’s reaction.  “Report: issued to Megatron immediately following interface.”

Ultra Magnus realizes belatedly that he’s now sitting down, the leg-lock apparently having given out.  He stares down at his hands, systems struggling to integrate recently-dismissed and almost incompatible information.  He can’t even look at Optimus—at least if Megatron shoots him, it’ll be over with.

 

Megatron doesn’t shoot him.  Of course, that would violate the terms of their treaty, since the—the incident—was entirely consensual.  After a brief interlude where Ratchet attempts to berate Soundwave for not seeking prompt medical care, and receives nothing but a “Medical care: not required,” for his efforts, Megatron and Soundwave take off.  The Autobots all stand around staring at each other in shock until Optimus calls a command meeting in the upstairs conference room.

Ultra Magnus sits in one of the chronically-undersized chairs and stares at his hands.  A simple rubber insulator could easily prevent sparklings from forming; all Autobots had them installed as a routine preventative measure.  Ultra Magnus had assumed the same was true for Decepticons. It’s nearly impossible to think that he could have—could have sparked a new life at all, much less with Soundwave. 

They’d been celebrating, one giant Autobot-Decepticon party after they’d driven the bulk of the Quintesson forces out of their solar system.  It wasn’t the end, of course; they all knew from long experience that the raids would continue, and that the war would evolve to take place just as viciously, only without the massive army camped at their doorstep.  Still, it was a bigger victory than they’d ever had before, and he and Soundwave had both partaken in the refined energon, and found themselves sitting on Cybertron’s surface together, looking up at the stars.

When Soundwave reached for him, Ultra Magnus had opened up easily.  It wasn’t anything life-changing, but falling into Soundwave’s neatly ordered systems, just as unwaveringly focused as his own—it was better than any of the half-hearted, restricted interfaces he’d had before. Soundwave’s mind was pure strength and devotion, as vicious and conniving as Megatron, but as steadfast and determined as Optimus Prime himself.   

“Ultra Magnus,” Optimus says, lowly.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I also learned of—of the sparkling, today,” Ultra Magnus explains.  “I will develop a report after this meeting to summarize the information we’ve learned.” 

Optimus frowns.  “Not that, Magnus,” he says, sounding wounded.  Ultra Magnus feels like Optimus just shoved his fingers into his fuel pump. “Why would you keep your relationship with Soundwave a secret? Were you afraid I wouldn’t approve?”  

“What?” Ultra Magnus looks to Prowl for help, but Prowl just stares. 

“Your relationship with Soundwave,” Optimus repeats.  “You could have come to me.”

“We don’t have a—relationship,” Ultra Magnus manages.  “We—” his vocalizer abruptly turns itself off, and he has to reboot.  “We interfaced only the one time, sir. I did file a notification in the personnel management system, as per protocol.”  Ultra Magnus had, of course, filed a report promptly, even though his faceplates had been burning so hot with mortification when he typed it out that he’d feared the temperature change would be detectable with standard vision, and not just on infrared. 

Optimus looks to Prowl, who pulls up the record on the holo-screen.   Ultra Magnus’s report is straightforward: _Interfaced once with Soundwave following interfactional celebration.  No confidential information exchanged._    

Ultra Magnus stops himself from asking why Optimus hasn’t been reviewing his reports in the system; Optimus is, of course, capable of determining which reports require his review. 

Jazz chooses that moment to come waltzing in the room.  “Congratulations, my mech!” he says. He plops down in the chair right beside Ultra Magnus, even though there are plenty of other empty seats in the room, including one by Prowl.

“Thank you,” Ultra Magnus says, awkwardly. 

“Didn’t think ya had in you,” Jazz says, grinning.  “And a sparklin’ out of it, too!”

He throws an arm around Ultra Magnus. Fortunately, he’s too small to get a good grip, and Ultra Magnus easily removes him. 

“Soundwave captured the spark,” Ultra Magnus explains.  “It is not ‘in’ me.”

Jazz laughs.  “Soundwave’s your baby mama!” he says, incomprehensibly.  Ultra Magnus eyes Prowl to see if he knows what Jazz is talking about.  Prowl clearly doesn’t know, either, but Ratchet comes in behind Wheeljack and dumps a stack of datapads on the table, so Ultra Magnus doesn’t have to try and respond. 

“Soundwave sent me a reading,” Ratchet says, not even bothering to sit down.  “The sparkling’s not just viable; it’s a damn good candidate for our project. But I’ve sent him and Megatron what I’m about to tell you: it’s a risk.  There’s no such thing as a safe transfer. They’re dangerous and unpredictable, and the sparkling might implode during the transfer, or just reject the frame entirely and blow up the lab.” 

“Its power rating is off the charts, though.” Wheeljack says.  “Ultra Magnus and Soundwave are some of the strongest progenitors we could have hoped for, but neither of us would’ve expected a spark this strong.”  He turns to Optimus. “This is probably our best chance for Project Starkiller to work.”

Optimus looks at one of the datapads thoughtfully.  “You think so too, Ratchet?”

“Starkiller has significant power requirements, and a highly specialized frame.  That makes this even riskier than a transfer into a more standard frame. But if anyone could do it…” he trails off.  “It’s worth a chance, if Soundwave is willing. Wheeljack is right—this is our best shot.”

Optimus nods.  “Alright. We’ll come to an agreement with Megatron, then.  In the meantime, Ultra Magnus, I’m giving you leave to visit Soundwave at any time during the process,” he says.  “And I’d like you to be present for any cross-factional meetings he attends. Don’t worry about duty shifts—in fact, consider this part of your diplomatic responsibilities regarding our treaty. Right now, your sparkling is a key component of an interfactional mission that could end the war.”

Beside Magnus, Jazz laughs out loud.  Ultra Magnus restrains himself from issuing a lecture on appropriate and professional behavior at command meetings; he knows by now it will only make things worse. 

“Wait,” Ratchet says, gesturing towards the report still on the screen.  “Is that the initial interface, or the most recent one?”

“Both,” Ultra Magnus says, stiffly.  “There has only been one occurrence.”

“Twelve years ago?” Ratchet asks.

Magnus glances up to confirm, but the date is clearly indicated on the report.  

Ratchet frowns.  “It’s theoretically possible to incubate a spark indefinitely, but in practice, the chances of accidental spark release are astronomically high after the two-year mark.  I’ve never seen a sparkling last this long.”

“Is there any chance Soundwave is mistaken?” Optimus says. “Prowl, can you see any reason why he might misrepresent the sparkling’s parentage?”

Prowl takes a moment, clearly running a tactical analysis, but he eventually shakes his head. “I’m not seeing a logical benefit. If anything, it would be more tactically valuable for Soundwave to claim that the sparkling is purely Decepticon, which would presumably give them claim to Starkiller as a Decepticon.”

Their treaty does not clearly address the citizenship of new Cybertronians, which is in Ultra Magnus’s opinion a grievous oversight, although possibly an unavoidable one.  The original treaty was declared so hastily that only the most critical and immediate issues were decided. Fortunately, they did include a formal amendment process. Even now, nearly two vorns after the treaty was initially ratified, Ultra Magnus continues to encounter situations that must be thoroughly addressed by both parties in an amendment.    

“We’ll have to hold a formal cross-factional meeting to address Starkiller’s citizenship,” Magnus says. “I imagine it will require a treaty amendment outlining how citizenship will be determined for new Cybertronians of any sort, with a specific clause addressing cross-factional sparklings.  Of particular concern is liability for personal injury and property damage, which, as you know, changes significantly between factions.” Ultra Magnus pulls a datapad out of his subspace and accesses the memo he keeps prepared to initiate the amendment process, and starts to fill in the necessary details.

Jazz throws himself backwards in his chair and groans dramatically. Magnus shoots him a questioning look.

“This again,” Jazz says. “I don’t even care anymore if the Decepticons blow everything up.  At this point, I’m sayin’ go for it. Then there won’t be any property left to damage and we’ll be done arguin’ about it.”

Prowl puffs up. “The issue of property damage is a significant one, Jazz, and our treaty does _not_ address it to my satisfaction. We have virtually no recourse except in incidents where we can prove malicious and intentional damage, and even then, the individual actors enjoy complete immunity from both civil and criminal action—”

Optimus holds up a hand. “Enough. I understand your position, Prowl, but we’ve already seen that the Decepticons won’t budge on the issue. Magnus, go ahead and start our treaty amendment process.”

Ratchet cuts in.  “We don’t have time for a treaty amendment.  If Soundwave really has been incubating this spark for this long, it’s a miracle the sparkling is still holding on—we can’t delay the framing.  Even a matter of days could affect the outcome.”

Optimus nods.  “Very well. Ultra Magnus, we’ll need to have a preliminary agreement in place right away; perhaps we can develop a joint resolution regarding the treatment of Starkiller, and continue our work on the next amendment on a more reasonable timeline.” 

He stands up, but instead of leaving, he comes over and grips Ultra Magnus’s shoulder.  “I should have already said—congratulations, Magnus,” he says, warmly.

Magnus smiles back, but remembers too late that his battle mask is up.  Optimus is already turning away, so he goes back to his datapad, trying to focus on his work as the others file out of the room.  

 

Ultra Magnus manages several hours of work and a complete rest cycle before he is required to attend to his diplomatic duties; Soundwave has agreed to, or more likely been ordered to agree to, a medical examination by Ratchet.  The exam is to take place in the Decepticon infirmary, under the supervision of Hook. They actually operate a cross-factional hospital in neutral territory, which both Hook and Ratchet regularly work at, but Megatron refused to allow Ratchet to examine Soundwave there.

“I don’t imagine he wanted an Autobot examining the sparkling at all, but I’m the only Cybertronian doctor still functioning with any first-hand knowledge of their transfer and development,” Ratchet explains, on the drive there.  “Most Autobot medics at least have a theoretical knowledge, but I don’t think the Decepticons even have _that_.”

Starscream meets them at the border in jet mode, swooping down almost close enough to scrape paint off Ultra Magnus’s roof, then darting in front of them in a cloud of exhaust.  Ultra Magnus just keeps driving, grimly resolved not to react; eight million years of civil warfare _should_ have prepared him for Starscream, but Starscream is exceptionally difficult to endure. 

Starscream escorts them all the way to the base; when they arrive, he transforms with the rest of them and they walk in together. 

“Are you attending Soundwave’s exam?” Ultra Magnus asks, when he shows no sign of departing at the infirmary doors. 

“Since Soundwave obviously can’t be trusted to stay away from your cables, _I’m_ here to keep an eye on things,” Starscream tells them snidely, confirming his fears.  Magnus’s emotional subsystems immediately heat up his entire body with pure humiliation, redirecting power from his vocal unit; he is completely unable to speak as they enter the infirmary, not even to greet Hook and Soundwave.    

Ratchet stomps right up to Soundwave, shooting everyone dirty looks; he’d been displeased about performing the exam with an audience.  “Do you consent to Ultra Magnus’s presence during your examination?” Ratchet asks. “You can say no, he can wait in the hallway. So can Starscream, for that matter.” 

“He can stay for now,” Starscream says, leaning back against one of the exam tables, arms crossed.

“I wasn’t asking you,” Ratchet says.  “Soundwave?”

“Ultra Magnus, Starscream: presence acceptable,” Soundwave tells him. 

Ratchet doesn’t argue, just gestures for Soundwave to sit on an exam table.  Ultra Magnus remains standing, but is strangely relieved that he’s permitted to stay.  Decepticons as a matter of course have no rights to medical privacy; it’s a common complaint of Ratchet’s, and usually, Magnus is inclined to agree.  Today, he appreciates their less stringent approach to medical confidentiality.

“Go ahead and confirm for me,” Ratchet says, pulling out his kit. “How long have you been incubating this sparkling?” 

“Eleven point eight Cybertronian years,” Soundwave says.  He opens a port in his forearm for Ratchet’s diagnostic scanner. 

Ratchet scowls.  “I hope you know what a gamble you took, holding onto a sparkling that long. There’s a reason the recommended maximum is two years.  Have you experienced any sudden power systems failures or energy overloads?”

“Negative,” Soundwave says. 

“Hmm.  I’m not seeing evidence of core fluctuations from your logs,” Ratchet says, looking at his scanner, “but I’d like a closer look.”   

Soundwave initiates a complicated transformation process, the subspace compartment in his chest shifting up and over and panels underneath sliding open, revealing a well-armored port. Ultra Magnus winces in sympathy; holding the transformation looks painful, although of course Soundwave makes no sign of it.

Starscream scowls.  He pulls his nullray out of subspace and twirls it around threateningly.  “You better make this quick, Autobot.”

Ratchet plugs in directly, not even using his scanner—a show of trust, to directly expose his systems to Soundwave.  Ultra Magnus shifts a little, uncomfortable. Even purely medical interfacing is private; none of them should be there watching, except possibly Hook.  He doesn’t want to leave, though, and can’t quite make himself look away.

“I’ll need physical access to the core, not just the port, in order to complete the transfer,” Ratchet explains as he works.  “Is this port the only point of access, or does that transformation routine have an additional sequence?”

Soundwave thinks on that for a moment.  “Without surgery, thirty square microns accessible. Area sufficient?”

Ratchet looks a little skeptical.  “We’ll make it work. At least there’s just the one sparkling.”  He looks up. “There _is_ just one, right?”

Hook laughs.  “If there’s more than one, you’re not finding out,” he says.  “ _I_ didn’t even know about this one.” 

Ultra Magnus is gripped by a sudden and unreasonable fear that there _is_ a second sparkling, but Soundwave shakes his head.  “One sparkling only.”

“Are these power systems your original design?” Ratchet asks, suddenly.

“No, the dual power systems are a modification,” Hook says.

“For cassettes,” Soundwave explains. 

Ratchet nods and unplugs.   “You can close up,” he says.  Soundwave does. “You _are_ having core fluctuations, but you’ve been asymptomatic because your secondary power system is compensating for the fluctuations, presumably the same way it keeps your core output stable when you’re supporting cassettes.” 

Starscream snorts.  “Might be the first time those brats of yours were any use.” 

Ratchet ignores him.  “You’re going to be symptomatic soon, though.  I tracked three fluxes while I was monitoring your core, and one of those was serious.  To be honest, I’m not sure how you haven’t lost the sparkling by now, and at this point, I don’t want to take any chances.  Ultra Magnus, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m going to recommend that the transfer take place within the next thirty hours at the absolute latest.  Soundwave, I want you to avoid any activities that could strain your power output—don’t dock your cassettes or activate your internal weapons systems; _especially_ don’t interface or discharge your cannon.”

Soundwave nods agreement, and Ultra Magnus goes ahead and forwards Ratchet’s recommendation to Optimus and Prowl.  He knows already that Optimus won’t argue with Ratchet’s timeline, which means they won’t have much time for negotiation; they’re unlikely to make any progress on the property damage issue. 

Ratchet whirls on Starscream.  “And you—you need to make sure he’s taken off all duty cycles, even training, until the transfer and then for at least ninety-six hours following. And tell Megatron he needs to either get to the table and figure out the citizenship agreement for Starkiller, or send someone else who can.”  

“I sent out a memo initiating our amendment process and requesting a meeting to establish interim terms nine hours ago,” Magnus reminds him. “The issue of citizenship for new Cybertronians is not addressed by our treaty.”

“More pointless rehashing,” Starscream says, cycling his optics.   The nullray finally goes back into subspace.

 _Starscream_.  Magnus very pointedly does not rise to the bait.  “The interim agreement will be critical in determining Starkiller’s citizenship while we complete a formal amendment,” he says.  “The issue of property damage will of course need to be addressed.”

Starscream snorts.  “Like I said: pointless.  What amendment is this, twelve thousand and one?”

“We’ve only had one thousand one hundred and forty-two amendments so far,” Ultra Magnus informs him.  “This will be Amendment 1143.”

“ _Only_ ,” Hook mutters, under his breath. 

Soundwave hands Ratchet a data chip.  “Frame requirements,” he explains. “For Starkiller.”

Something flies past Magnus’s face in a rush of air. He ducks instinctively, but it’s only Buzzsaw, who lands on Soundwave’s shoulder.  He must have been concealed in the infirmary for the examination.

“I will notify you when a time for the transfer is established,” Ultra Magnus tells him. 

Soundwave nods, then leaves without acknowledging anyone else.   

 

When he arrives back on base, Magnus retreats to his office, and after providing Optimus a summary of the meeting with Soundwave and recommending that he speak with Megatron personally, he spends several productive hours approving requisitions, reviewing personnel reports, and compiling an agenda and brief informational packet for the pre-amendment meeting.  He completes it just in time; he’s just putting the finishing touches on the packet’s table of contents when he receives an emergency ping from the base computer, requesting his presence immediately in the north conference suite.

Magnus gathers his datapads and walks over.  He’s been through enough amendments now to know that Megatron tends to show up unannounced and expects to begin negotiations immediately.  Optimus claims that it’s a negotiation tactic, but Magnus suspects that Megatron just enjoys watching his former enemies scurrying around trying to accommodate him.  Unfortunately for him, Ultra Magnus is rarely unprepared.

Optimus is there with Starscream and Megatron when Ultra Magnus arrives.  Soundwave is not present. When Magnus inquires as to his absence, Megatron glares.  “Soundwave is resting,” he snaps. “And he’ll _keep_ resting until it’s time for the transfer. _You_ can keep your cables to yourself.” 

“Can’t risk losing his little parasite,” Starscream adds, but Ultra Magnus is too mortified to respond. 

Optimus comes to his rescue.  “We made cross-factional interfacing part of the treaty, Megatron,” he says.  “Soundwave is permitted to choose his own partners. And it’s not really appropriate to discuss the—romantic habits of our officers.” 

“Fine,” Megatron says, conceding the point with typical ill grace.  “Get your people in the room, Optimus. I don’t have all day.”

Prowl arrives shortly, and they all file in to the secured conference room typically used for treaty-related meetings. 

“Alright,” Starscream says, “let’s get this over with.”  He drops into a chair and kicks his heels up on the table. Ultra Magnus’s hands make unauthorized grabbing motions behind his back, and he firmly reminds his motivator that manhandling Starscream at an amendment meeting would violate the safe conduct terms of their treaty.

Once everyone is situated, Ultra Magnus calls the meeting to order and hands out datapads with the informational packet loaded.  Starscream interrupts him halfway through reading out the agenda.

“We don’t need to you to read to us,” he snaps. “This is a waste of time—we’ve all seen the specs, we all know he’s a Decepticon. Hand over your draft agreement already.”

“He’s not a _Decepticon,_ ” Prowl says.  “He was built by Autobots, in an Autobot facility, for an Autobot mission plan.  If anything, he’s an Autobot.”

Starscream lets out a sharp laugh.  “Ha! Okay, sure, if _that’s_ the requirement for being an Autobot, then half our army is Autobots.  Try again, Prowl.”

“Courteous behavior is a requirement of the negotiations,” Ultra Magnus interjects, before Prowl can escalate the argument any more.  “Additionally, if you will turn your attention to the brief, it is my recommendation that Starkiller, as a cross-factional sparkling, should be held to a unique mixed protocol agreement while a permanent amendment is developed.  The permanent amendment, in addition to addressing the citizenship of all new Cybertronians, will identify the laws and regulations which will be applied to future cross-factional or neutral Cybertronians. In section G of your packet I’ve included a list of topics which should be addressed in the temporary agreement; the list is not exhaustive, but does include key areas such as liability for the criminal destruction of property.” 

“I’m not here to renegotiate the treaty,” Megatron says, after reviewing the list.  “You already know how I expect these items to be addressed. If you want an amendment stating how we’ll treat Neutrals, if any ever turn up, then fine, but we can put off the bureaucracy until _after_ we’ve gotten Starkiller in the field.”

“Starkiller is the issue at stake here!” Prowl says. 

“He’s a _Decepticon,_ ” Starscream says. “He has a Decepticon brain design.  He turns into a railgun!”

Ultra Magnus summons Ratchet while Starscream and Prowl argue; it’s clear that they need a professional opinion.  Truthfully, Magnus hadn’t imagined that this particular point would be up for debate. He’d thought it would be a simple agreement that Starkiller, as a product of both factions, would be considered a cross-factional citizen.  While waiting on Ratchet, he pulls up the agenda on his datapad and adjusts the schedule; he clearly didn’t allocate enough time to the initial determination of citizenship.

Ratchet, unfortunately, does not bring a voice of compromise to the meeting.  “What do you mean, he’s a Decepticon?” he says. “He has a core empathy module.” 

“Oh, a core empathy module, _that_ makes a railgun an Autobot,” Starscream sneers.  “One useless emotional component has nothing to do with his _entire brain design_ .  His entire brain is designed to fire a spark-powered weapon.  His emotional components are stripped down and triple shielded.  His primary motivator is directly linked to his strategic and tactical processors through _core interface_!  You could’ve pulled his brain design out of any Decepticon warrior, and no one would know the difference.” 

“Starscream,” Ratchet says, impatient, “No Decepticons have core empathy modules.  It’s the defining difference in our brain construction.”

Megatron slams his fist on the table.  “Enough Autobot elitism,” he says. “I heard enough about core empathy modules from the Functionists—I’m not listening to it now.  The next thing you know, you’ll be talking about how Decepticons can’t _really_ feel pain, they’re just imitating it.”

“No one is saying that!” Ratchet cries.  “No one has said that in millions of years!  What I’m saying is that Starkiller’s systems are designed around an emotional component that Decepticons _don’t have._ Not to mention the sparkling itself—one of that sparkling’s progenitors is an Autobot!  That doesn’t make him an Autobot, but it certainly doesn’t make him a Decepticon, either—Starkiller is a cross-factional creation.”

“He’s a weapon,” Megatron says, “and that’s what you designed him for.  He’s not designed around a core empathy module—he’s designed around a spark-powered weapon mode that can force a solar flare reaction out of a sun.”  He pounds a fist on the table; Starscream jumps. “And I won’t see you claiming him or _any other_ Decepticon as an Autobot, just so you can get your use out of him and then dispose of him when he becomes _inconvenient to fuel,”_ he growls.

“No wonder they have property damage on here,” Starscream says, waving his datapad around. “They’re trying to get us to agree to criminal liability, probably so they’ll have an excuse to get rid of him.  As soon as the war’s over, they’ll convict him of criminal property damage and sentence him to spark prison or a million years hard labor for—for crushing a chair, or scraping the top of a doorway, or getting drunk and slagging some stupid Autobot sculpture—the same thing they’d do to all of us, if they could!” The datapad goes flying.       

“Courteous behavior is a requirement of the negotiations!” Ultra Magnus says, somewhat forcefully.  “Please refrain from hitting the furniture, and limit your use of the datapad to reference and note-taking.” 

Ratchet, already standing up with his fists clenched, starts to speak, but Optimus waves him down.  “I think we could all use a break,” he says. “Let’s take a few minutes—Autobots, go ahead and wait for me in the back conference room.” 

Magnus is a little slower than the rest of them to leave, busy adjusting the schedule to account for the “break,” and the staff meeting in the back conference room.  He sees Optimus pull Megatron aside as the others walk out ahead of them.

“These are serious allegations,” Optimus says.  “Do you truly believe that Starkiller is a plot to imprison or enslave Decepticon warriors?”

“I don’t know,” Megatron spits, “you tell me.  First I find out about this—this plot to impregnate one of my most critical officers, and then I come here and see _this_.” He holds up his datapad threateningly.  “You made this sound like we were meeting to argue about whether to give Starkiller the upgrades Soundwave wants—which you _will_ , or he won’t be sparked at all—and then we’d get on with the transfer.”      

“I didn’t mean to mislead you,” Optimus says, and Magnus sees him lean in, and put a hand on Megatron’s arm.  “Let me speak with my staff, and then let’s come back and negotiate with clearer heads. This amendment _is_ important, whatever Starscream may think.  We do need to come to an agreement on this, not just for Starkiller’s sake, but for any future sparklings.  How can our people have any future, if we can’t agree on the treatment of new citizens?”

“Fine,” Megatron says.  “Go talk to your people, and then let’s hurry this up.  I want that sparkling out of Soundwave, one way or another.”

Ultra Magnus walks past them, and tries not to think of the implications.  He has already been tasked with the success of these negotiations; he will ensure that the outcome is appropriate for all involved parties.

 

In the back conference room, Magnus finds Wheeljack and, unfortunately, Jazz waiting with the others.  Optimus walks in shortly after.

“Let’s try and make this quick,” he says.  “Megatron is already growing impatient. I doubt he will accept Starkiller as anything _but_ a Decepticon—he’s already threatening to have Soundwave release the sparkling.”

“It seems pertinent to note that our only bargaining chip in these negotiations is Project Starkiller.  As we have physical custody of the frame, we could refuse the spark transfer,” Ultra Magnus adds.

“What are the options if we refuse?” Prowl asks.

“I don’t think we _can_ refuse,” Wheeljack says.  “Ratchet and I have gone through every iteration of this project—if there’s a way to create Starkiller without a spark, we can’t find it.”  

“Even if we could, at this point, I’m not sure it would be ethical,” Ratchet says.  “Soundwave is barely holding on to his sparkling. I can’t imagine that Soundwave would willingly release it, regardless of what Megatron might be saying, but—not to be dramatic, Optimus, but I don’t think it’s possible to design and build a strong enough frame in the time he has remaining. Starkiller is that sparkling’s only real chance at life.”  

Across from Magnus, Jazz and Prowl exchange looks.

“Okay,” Jazz says, “Is anyone else thinkin’ it’s kinda suspicious that Soundwave waited until now to bring up the secret sparklin’?” 

“What do you mean?” Magnus asks. 

“He means,” Prowl says, “that Soundwave must have been planning this from the beginning.  How coincidental can it be that he captured a sparkling _just_ in time for this project?  And then waited to reveal it until there simply wasn’t time to build another, less dangerous frame?  I think the evidence speaks for itself—this is a Decepticon plot to gain control of Starkiller.”

It hasn’t occurred to Magnus that Soundwave might have had—an ulterior motive.  It’s an odd feeling, adding to the heavy feeling in his fuel pump at the idea that their sparkling could extinguish, _wanted_ , but without a frame. 

“Why Ultra Magnus, though?” Ratchet asks.  “He could’ve made the sparkling with Megatron, and it would have been plenty strong enough, not to mention weakened our claim on Starkiller as an Autobot.  Besides, twelve years ago, Wheeljack and I hadn’t even started planning this project.”

It’s a little unbelievable, anyway.   _Megatron_ certainly seemed surprised enough when he learned of the sparkling.

Wheeljack shuffles a little in his seat.  “When was the sparkling actually conceived?  Exactly twelve years ago?”

“No,” Ratchet says.  “A little less.”

For clarity’s sake, Ultra Magnus pulls the exact date out of his personnel file and projects it on the central display. “It was—after the battle at Septa Minor,” he manages, trying and failing to keep his emotional subsystem from producing any extra heat. 

“The big party after we kicked the Quintessons out of the solar system?  Grimlock got drunk and destroyed half the base?”

“Yes.” Ultra Magnus distinctly remembers _that_.  The necessary renovations had been challenging, and making Grimlock understand the severity of his actions even more so; Decepticons might not be liable for property damage, but Autobots certainly are. 

Wheeljack is quiet for a moment, then says, “That’s the night I came up with Starkiller.  I didn’t—talk about him with anyone—but that’s the night I had the idea.”

Prowl shoots Optimus a triumphant look.  Ratchet snorts.

“That’s nothing but paranoia,” he says.  “If Soundwave really could read minds, we would certainly know by now—in fact, we’d all be dead, because the Decepticons would’ve won the war right off, instead of dragging it out for eight million years.”      

Optimus lets out a quiet laugh at that.  “I would imagine so,” he says. “Either way, you were right the first time around, Ratchet—we can’t throw away the life of this sparkling on nothing but conjecture and rumor.  The project needs to move forward, and we need to come to an agreement quickly, so that the spark transfer can take place. Ultra Magnus, Prowl, I’m very sorry to say that this will most likely come at the cost of our ongoing battle regarding property damage.”    

They all start to get up, and go back to the main conference room; once Optimus has made up his mind, there’s little sense in arguing.  But before anyone can get out the door, Wheeljack speaks up.

“We could—install a switch, maybe,” Wheeljack says.  “In Starkiller’s brain module. Something to prevent him from independently transforming into railgun mode.” 

He’s looking right at Ultra Magnus when he says it.  Ultra Magnus is—he can’t—Starkiller is a dangerous project.  His railgun mode is meant to blast an electromagnetic pulse so strong it sets off a solar flare; Cybertronians are generally resistant to EMP-style weaponry, but not that level of power. And if the Decepticons get Starkiller, and Megatron decides to break their treaty and go to war again—

Magnus turns to Optimus, helpless, and Optimus stares back for a moment, then shakes his head.   

“No,” Optimus says.  “No, we can’t.”

“It wouldn’t _hurt_ him,” Wheeljack says, but Optimus doesn’t budge. 

“No,” he says.  “If we do that to Starkiller—if we put an inhibitor switch in the brain of a sentient being—then we make Megatron’s accusations true.  Starkiller really would be just a weapon to us.  Any Decepticon would be, because if we do it to one, why not all of them?  What separates a fusion cannon from a railgun? What true difference is there between a weapon mode and a weapons system?”  He shakes his head. “Other Decepticons, in the past—that might have been true for them. They might have been created as weapons, and nothing else.  But that’s not true now.”

“What if the Decepticons use him to break the treaty?” Prowl asks.  Magnus waits for the answer; this is his question, too.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.   _If_ we get to it.  In the meantime, we’ll have to trust the Decepticons to honor the treaty they signed—and we’ll have to keep on building a world where they _want_ to.” 

Ultra Magnus’s vents open suddenly, releasing a gush of hot exhaust; he hadn’t realized they were closed.   He feels frozen, not sure how to express the sudden feeling of relief, like a hand unclenching from around his fuel pump, but he doesn’t need to. Optimus comes over and squeezes his hand, like he already knows. 

Despite all the difficulties of serving under Optimus—unread personnel reports, the incomprehensible inclusion of Jazz at command meetings, unreasonably short deadlines for the creation of legal documents— _this_ is why Ultra Magnus has never desired to lead.  Ultra Magnus had never even considered a peace treaty; when Optimus decided they were having one, he didn’t even have _notes_ prepared.  He never could have conceived a world where Autobots and Decepticons fought together, and built hospitals together, and—made sparklings together.  But of course Optimus had hoped for it all along.

Magnus realizes, belatedly, that everyone else has left the room, and it’s just him and Optimus and Ratchet left.  Optimus leans in conspiratorially towards Ratchet.

“Anyway,” he murmurs, “let’s not forget who this sparkling’s other progenitor is.  Can you imagine _Magnus_ breaking a ratified peace treaty?” 

Ratchet laughs, and Magnus goes a little hot.  He doesn’t—quite get the joke. But it’s true; he would never break a treaty. He can only hope that Starkiller inherits the same conscientious outlook. 

 

The rest of the negotiations go as well as can be expected, considering that they have nothing to negotiate _with_.  Ultra Magnus takes the signed interim agreement and exits the room as Jazz is explaining to everyone that the mark of a true compromise is that no one leaves happy. 

Ultra Magnus needs a rest cycle, but the spark transfer is scheduled only fourteen hours away—enough time for Ratchet and Wheeljack to take their own rest cycles and make the agreed-upon changes to Starkiller’s frame, but hardly long enough to develop an official document outlining Starkiller’s unique status.  Starkiller _is_ a Decepticon, but he’ll report directly to Magnus, which necessitates a complex and variable command structure.

Ultra Magnus consumes a triple ration, then cancels all of his non-vital active routines and plugs into his rest unit for half an hour without fully powering down.  It isn’t exactly medically advised, but Magnus knows from experience that a partial rest cycle will only leave him groggy and functioning far below optimum thresholds.  This method, at least, gives his brain a rest and his charge a boost, and he’ll be able to return to work much more quickly than if he had taken his standard six hour rest cycle.    

Afterwards, feeling much refreshed, he dedicates seven hours to research, citation, and note-taking, an additional four hours to initial document development, two hours to final revision, formatting, and accessibility changes, and the final remaining half-hour to assembling a welcome packet of sorts for Starkiller, who will require a personalized orientation from both factions.  He makes it to the surface entrance to Wheeljack’s lab with only astroseconds to spare before the appointed time; the other Autobots are all already present, although the Decepticons have yet to arrive.

“How was your rest cycle?” Optimus asks while they wait. 

“Abbreviated,” Magnus says.  Inexplicably, Optimus laughs; Magnus eyes him oddly. 

Megatron arrives with all of his usual fanfare, Soundwave and Hook trailing behind him.  He and Optimus, as usual, gravitate towards each other.

“I don’t have time for your nonsense,” Megatron growls, when Optimus attempts to greet him.  Somewhat predictably, this devolves into yet another argument, needlessly delaying their descent into the lab. 

Ultra Magnus goes up to Soundwave, who is waiting silently beside Hook.  He is suddenly, uncomfortably reminded of Ratchet’s many warnings about the dangers of spark transfers, both for the sparkling and for Soundwave, and he has to push down the urge to bring it up.  Soundwave is surely aware of the dangers, and has made his own decision. It isn’t Magnus’s place to issue additional warnings.

Magnus reminds everyone present that they are already six minutes behind schedule, and still delaying, which gets Megatron to order Soundwave and Hook into the lab already.  They all head down together, and when they get into the lab, Soundwave pushes past the rest of them without acknowledgement, pulling several delicate tools out of his subspace and heading straight for Starkiller.  Wheeljack hovers ineffectively as Soundwave inspects the braincase, pulling out delicate emotional components and deeply buried processing chips.

“Don’t—” Wheeljack winces and wrings his hands, jerking back as he tries not to intervene, “Okay, just—”

Soundwave ignores him and continues his inspection.  Occasionally, he hands components over to Hook for further review, but everything is eventually replaced.  Magnus exchanges a look with Optimus, relieved; any failsafe that Wheeljack could have put in there would have been detected.  

Soundwave seems pleased, as far as Magnus can tell.  All of his requested changes were approved, mostly minor changes according to Ratchet: additional shielding, a manual core armor lock, a different placement scheme for some of the emotional components, and the like.  The only change they even debated was a quadruple shielded tertiary communications line that ran through all of Starkiller’s external limbs and had five separate working arrays, any of which could be obstructed or destroyed without reducing systems functionality.  Prowl had been worried that was part of some unknown Decepticon plot, but Ratchet figured that it was just paranoia, and would mostly serve to make standard repairs unnecessarily difficult. “Starkiller can always have the system removed or shortened,” he said. “It’ll be annoying, but harmless, and as-is it’ll allow him to maintain long-distance communications in railgun mode.” 

Soundwave and Hook carefully scan every inch of Starkiller with the massive particle scanner Hook brought along for the job.  Once Hook gives the go ahead, Wheeljack gets to work, separating the chest panels and partially extracting the empty core. Ratchet pulls out a thick cable and beckons Soundwave over.

“Go ahead and open up, Soundwave,” Ratchet says. 

Soundwave initiates his partial transformation process without hesitation, apparently unconcerned about exposing his most critical components to a room full of former enemies.  Megatron is less calm, and he looms over Soundwave with flashing optics, his fusion cannon lighting up dangerously. For once, Ultra Magnus is on the same page. It’s just as uncomfortable to watch now as it was in the infirmary.   

Ratchet keeps a careful eye on Megatron as he bolts the cable into place, working quickly and professionally.  Magnus rubs his own chest plates sympathetically. It looks tremendously painful, but Soundwave doesn’t react at all, not even when Ratchet tugs at the bolt to check its tightness. 

“How long is this going to take?” Megatron demands. 

Ratchet glares at him.  “Longer if you keep waving that thing around,” he says, pointing at Megatron’s cannon with his wrench.  He looks at Soundwave, though, and briefly explains the process again; they covered it in detail during the negotiations.  “Now that you’re hooked up, I’m going to attach this cable to Starkiller’s core, and then you’ll be able to push the spark you’re holding through the connection.  I’ll disconnect the cable as soon as the spark takes; the whole process generally takes less than five astrominutes.”

Soundwave nods, and Ratchet gets the thick cable secured to Starkiller’s core, then steps back out of the way.  Wheeljack is hovering next to Starkiller’s open chest; Hook moves to stand by his helm.

“Alright, Soundwave,” Ratchet says. “Push when you’re ready.”

With the mask and visor, Ultra Magnus can’t see Soundwave’s expression change, but his hands are clenched on the table in front of him, his head bent over as he pushes the spark out.  This time he does cry out, low and harmonic. Ultra Magnus finds himself leaning forward, almost unconsciously. Optimus reaches over to grip his arm with a comforting squeeze.

“Some discomfort is natural,” Ratchet assures them. 

Magnus firmly reminds himself to stay put.  There’s nothing he can do to assist; he has no medical training, and Soundwave will not benefit from distraction.

“I’m starting to register low-level electrical impulses.”  Hook says, after another minute has passed. As he says it, he glances warily at Megatron, who is looking both murderous and impatient—never a good combination.  Optimus notices, and goes to him.

Ultra Magnus reviews his subspace contents, confirming that he has copies of the most critical information, documents that can’t wait for a formal orientation: the Amendment 1143 interim agreement, Starkiller’s commanding officer protocol guide, the Autobot and Decepticon codes, the full treaty contents. All are present and accounted for. 

Starkiller’s optics start to illuminate around the edges, and Ratchet and Wheeljack spring into action; Ratchet rushes to disconnect the cable, and Wheeljack closes the chest panels, so quickly that the end of the cable nearly gets caught. 

“That’s it,” Ratchet says, flipping around and getting started on Soundwave’s end of the cable.  “Frame rejection is nearly always instantaneous, so chances are the spark took. Everyone get back while his systems finish initializing, though, just in case.” 

They’d evacuated the entire lab base in case of a frame rejection, so Ultra Magnus isn’t entirely certain that stepping back a few paces will do much good. Still, he does as he’s told.  He’s vaguely aware of Optimus and Megatron arguing beside him—something about Ratchet—but Ultra Magnus can’t focus on anything other than Starkiller’s slowly brightening optics.

Suddenly, the battle mask Soundwave had insisted on snaps shut, and Starkiller sits up, pulling at the wires attached to his frame. 

“Don’t pull on those!” Ratchet says.  Hook and Wheeljack are already working to get him disconnected, and Hook offers him a cube.  The battle mask retracts, and Starkiller guzzles it down immediately. Wheeljack presses another cube into his hand before the first one is even finished.

“Drink up,” he says, laughing.  “Even the mainline can’t keep up with you!” He indicates the fuel line hooked up directly to Starkiller’s side. 

Hooks grunts.  “It’s no wonder you couldn’t get him sparked manually,” he says.  “If I didn’t know Ultra Magnus’s and Soundwave’s power outputs, I’d be surprised you got a spark to stick at all.” 

“It doesn’t hurt that Soundwave incubated him for about ten Cybertronian years more than the recommended maximum incubation period,” Ratchet says, dryly.  “How are you feeling, Starkiller? Any system alerts popping up? Move your arms and legs some for me, see if you feel any grinding.”

“My designation is Excelcius,” Starkiller— _Excelcius_ —says.  Obediently, he starts bending his arms and legs, turning one arm over and transforming it into a blaster, which was _not_ in his original specifications; all of his firepower had been reserved for his alt modes.  He aims at a piece of equipment that Ultra Magnus hopes isn’t critical and fires. The machine turns off with sharp popping noise, sparking faintly.  Ultra Magnus’s systems identify the blast as a dual-energy electromagnetic particle beam, particularly useful for destroying infrastructure.

“Sorry,” Ratchet tells him. “We’ve all gotten used to calling you by your project name.  You’re a mech with a purpose, Excelcius.”

“I know,” Excelcius says.  He stands up, ripping the fuel line out of his side.  Wheeljack rushes to get the energon connection cut off before it can start gushing everywhere.  Excelcius is—huge. He towers over all of them, even Ultra Magnus; he can barely stand up in the lab, his head tilted slightly to keep from brushing against the ceiling.     

Excelcius sees the stairs, and starts toward them, obviously intent on getting somewhere he can transform.  Ultra Magnus remembers the consuming urge to transform from his own sparking, although unlike Excelcius, his alt mode was able to fit inside the factory he’d been sparked in.  Excelcius pushes past Optimus and Megatron without any apparent recognition, but stops short at the sight of Soundwave.

“You’re Soundwave,” he says, sounding a little surprised.

Soundwave nods sharply.  He points to Magnus. “Other progenitor: Ultra Magnus.” 

Excelcius looks around, obviously realizing for the first time how many people are crammed in the room with him, and presumably, who they are.  Ultra Magnus remembers this, too: those first moments of recognition, becoming aware of others.

“Who is my commander?” he asks, optics brightening a little. 

Megatron folds his arms across his chest.  Beside him, Optimus doesn’t look any happier. 

“I will act as your commander,” Ultra Magnus explains, to forestall any confusion. “But you are a Decepticon, and you will often be expected to report to a different commanding officer in response to situational needs.”  Ultra Magnus pulls the relevant datapad out of his subspace and hands it over. “I’ve developed a formal protocol for determining your commanding officer, depending on location, mission assignment, enemy engagement, and other key circumstances. There is a grid in the index for efficient reference.”

Megatron snorts at that, but Ultra Magnus ignores him.  Explicit and comprehensive instructions are the best way to ensure a new warrior is able to understand and meet expectations.  

Excelcius nods, accepting the datapad and depositing it in his own subspace. Ratchet starts herding Excelcius up the stairs as soon as he has it.

“You need to transform,” Ratchet says. “Let’s get outside, get you some space. Can you feel that there are two distinct transformation sequences yet? If not, that’s okay.”

“Yes,” Excelcius says, hurrying up the stairs; with his huge strides, he’s halfway up before the rest of them have even made it out of the lab.

Ultra Magnus is the last to exit, so by the time he makes it outside, Excelcius has already transformed into his shuttle mode and is flying in circles over the base.

“He’s not the most aerodynamic atmospheric flyer,” Wheeljack says, “but in vacuum, he’s going to be incredible.  Look at him!”

Excelcius fires a couple of times, destroying some surface debris with his standard weaponry, and rendering the base entrance non-functional with an electromagnetic blast.  Ultra Magnus grits his teeth on a reprimand; property damage remains a delicate issue, and the interim agreement stipulates that Excelcius will face no penalties for property damage from either faction. 

When Excelcius gets back to ground, he demonstrates his railgun mode, but Ratchet warns him not to fire—even at one-hundredth power, Wheeljack doesn’t think he’ll be able to avoid collateral damage, and the pulse strength can’t be reliably reduced any further.  Fortunately, Excelcius is persuaded by this reasoning.

As Excelcius transforms back, Hook crosses his arms, satisfied.  “With proper grounding, I think we _are_ looking at a coronal mass eruption.”

Ratchet scurries forward and convinces Excelcius to allow him to plug in and complete some final systems checks.  After a few moments, he steps back. “I think that’s everything,” he says. “It’s all checking out on my end. Let Soundwave take a look if you have trouble with comms or accessing the network, and come see me straight away if you have any pain, or if you experience difficulty with major life activities: that’s transforming, recharging, or refueling.  Otherwise, let’s schedule a follow-up exam after you’ve had a chance to get settled in.”

Excelcius nods.  Megatron and Optimus both come over and welcome him, which Excelcius bears silently, and the two of them walk off together.  Wheeljack, Ratchet, and Hook take off as well, leaving Ultra Magnus alone with Soundwave, and with Excelcius.

Ultra Magnus gives Excelcius the other datapads in his “welcome packet,” and assures him that he will receive a formal orientation at Ultra Magnus’s earliest possible convenience.  In the meantime, Magnus reminds him to take a rest cycle, and that Soundwave will assign him quarters in the Decepticon base.

“I’m assigning you recreational time until we’re able to complete your orientation, which I will schedule for approximately twenty hours from now,” Ultra Magnus explains.  “That should give you time to meet your Decepticon comrades, get settled in to your quarters, and complete two rest cycles.” He sends the relevant command to Soundwave, who nods and adds it to the shared roster.  If Excelcius was an Autobot, Ultra Magnus would simply declare him off-duty, but Decepticons don’t actually have off-duty status or even official leave; rather, all time not scheduled into the roster falls under the jurisdiction of their immediate commanders, who are able to issue rec time as needed.  It’s one of many cultural differences that Magnus will now need to account for as Excelcius’s commanding officer.

“What is the status of my mission?” Excelcius asks.  The mission files would have been pre-loaded into his archive, along with all the other necessary basic knowledge, but it’s a bit surprising that he already has the presence of mind to ask after it. 

“Now that you’ve been successfully sparked, we’ll be able to begin formal pre-mission planning,” Ultra Magnus says.  “I will ensure you are present in an observational capacity, and you’ll be able to submit any contributions you may have to me directly.”  

Excelcius nods, but doesn’t seem appeased—he looks over at Soundwave, and his mask snaps closed again. 

“Do you have additional questions?” Magnus prompts.

“Do you—is there a timeline for my departure?”   

Ultra Magnus shakes his head.  “No. However, I imagine your departure will be scheduled on an extremely abbreviated timeline,” he says.  “I would therefore recommend that you make an effort to meet the Constructicons and Astrotrain as soon as practicable, as they’ll accompany you for the initial stages of your mission.”

Excelcius thinks on that, and after several minutes of silence asks, “Is my function limited to my mission parameters?”   

“You’ll be assigned additional responsibilities,” Ultra Magnus assures him, but Excelcius grows agitated, his arm transforming in and out of blaster mode, apparently unconsciously. 

Soundwave steps in.  “Excelcius: designed to withstand solar flare in weapons mode.  Shielding increased to ensure this outcome. Anticipated coronal mass ejection, solar flare: within optimal parameters.” 

The arm transformation stops, and Excelcius’s mask opens again.  Ultra Magnus makes a note to address the behavioral tells during their orientation, if Soundwave has not already. 

“I’m going to fly again, then,” Excelcius announces, and Ultra Magnus nods permission.  Excelcius transforms and takes flight, his massive double-bodied form nothing like the easy grace of the seekers, but just as impressive in its own right. 

Ultra Magnus sits down to watch, somewhat heavily.  He hadn’t anticipated Excelcius’s question; it hadn’t occurred to Magnus that Excelcius might expect—might have believed that—that he was created solely for their critical mission, with no expectations for his survival.  Magnus thinks guiltily of Wheeljack suggesting an external power source, and of Prowl saying later, _what if we refuse_. 

Soundwave comes to sit down beside him, and they watch Excelcius together.  Excelcius, his sparkling, who’s going to be a Decepticon, but who is also going to be—the end of the war.  If his mission is successful.

Peace is almost impossible for Magnus to grasp; the war has stretched on for almost his entire functioning, and even their peace treaty didn’t end it, just cemented a new common enemy.  But if they _do_ manage to cause the solar flare they’re hoping for, and catch the Quintessons off guard—

Maybe the Decepticons _will_ start up the war again.  But there’s no way to know, until they’ve given peace a chance.  

 

After a little while, Soundwave opens his chest compartment without warning, and one of his cassettes comes tumbling out—Rumble.  Magnus nearly gapes at him.

“Docking your cassettes was medically contraindicated,” is all he manages to say. 

Soundwave doesn’t shrug, but Magnus gets that feeling from him anyway. 

“He’s really huge, boss!” Rumble says, staring up at Excelcius.  “I don’t think he’s gonna fit in our room.”

“Excelcius: assigned private quarters,” Soundwave tells him patiently.   

Rumble starts to argue, then seems to realize that Magnus is there as well.  “You!” he cries. “You sparked up the boss!”

Magnus can only nod. 

“Megatron was so mad,” Rumble tells him, scrambling out of Soundwave’s lap.  “Like, really mad. You’re totally getting scrapped. It was nice knowing you,” he adds, patting Ultra Magnus sympathetically on the leg. 

Soundwave turns his head to stare at him, and Rumble gets up.  “I’m going, I’m going,” he says, and Ravage comes out of _somewhere,_ and the two of them dart off.  

Magnus stares at him, unable to reconcile Soundwave’s highly conscientious demeanor and his sudden apparent disregard for his own health, even after Ratchet’s dire warnings of spark strain.  He thinks suddenly of Prowl and Jazz’s accusations, and—Soundwave, approaching him on the very night Project Starkiller was conceived; somehow keeping a sparkling incubating in secret for nearly twelve years, and showing no symptoms or strain until the _very last moment_ ; the detailed frame adjustments he already had prepared at his first medical exam—

“You—you _did_ plan this,” Ultra Magnus sputters. 

This time Soundwave does shrug.  “Sparkling desired,” is all he says in response. 

“I will have to report this to Optimus,” Magnus warns him, but Soundwave seems completely unconcerned, and possibly with good reason; he could imagine no possible treaty-permitted action that they could take against him for conspiring to have—a desperately needed sparkling, possibly the only spark that ever could have inhabited Starkiller’s incredibly specialized frame.

Ultra Magnus looks up somewhat morosely at Excelcius, who is attempting an aerial maneuver clearly meant for a much smaller frame.  It’s an inauspicious start to his existence.  Soundwave, as calm and collected as always, simply pulls a cube of energon out of his subspace and begins refueling.   

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope you'll let me know what you thought! All feedback is loved and appreciated a thousand times over. 
> 
> Like my last Transformers fic, this story was heavily inspired by [astolat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat)’s [Transfomers works](https://archiveofourown.org/series/877425)—many thanks to her fantastic worldbuilding. 
> 
> Also, Excelcius is based on giant commercial space shuttle with two cabins (!!) produced by a company named Stratolaunch. His name comes from the Latin word “excelsis,” which means “highest.”


End file.
